Ilk Nature
by Thursday Next
Summary: A scene from the show Carnivale, when a desperate Ben confronts Management to save Ruthie's life


-- *sings* I don't own anything, please don't sue! I promise to return the characters of Carnivale unharmed and relatively sane once I've finished with them. *snickers malevolently*  
  
This ficlet is pretty much only understandable if you've seen the show Carnivale. If you haven't, you're probably going to be confused (I apologize). I'm not going to explain everything, because it would take too long and I'm lazy. Enjoy and please review! Please? --  
  
To give life, you got to take it from something else. Ben Hawkins had tried. He had tried to heal her without taking life, he had tried to take the life of the drunk in the alleyway, and he had even tried, in desperation and despair, to give his own life for her. Nothing had saved her.  
  
He charged into the cabin, pushing the creaky wooden door out of his way. The dim interior of the car made him pause as his eyes adjusted. A feeble, sickly glow fought its way through the heavy drapes that covered the shrunken windows like funeral shrouds. A long dusty table and rickety old chairs stood along the right wall. To the left, a dilapidated red velvet chair was pushed up against the end of the moth-eaten bed. The air was stiff and stale, weighed with the cloying scent of some herb. The pervading stench suffused the cabin, fogging up Ben's mind, making him feel thick- witted and slow. He stood in the dark, musty carnie car and glared at the dark rouge curtains. Fury fought with feelings of helplessness and defeat, pummeling him and making him shake. He hated the man hidden behind those crimson curtains, the thing that played games with him and laughed at his futile efforts. He hated that he was afraid of it. Lodz relaxed on a weatherworn bench seat, leaning easily against the cabin wall, his cane propped up against his legs. He stared at Ben in the usual way, as if looking through him and two inches higher. Uncharacteristically, he kept silent, but his posture and bearing conveyed smug satisfaction and slight anticipation. Ben shuddered in disgust. Management's lapdog.  
  
Ben stalked past Lodz, defeat and pain and cowardly fear that he hated all blending into overwhelming weariness. A bitter resolve sustained him as he faced the monster behind the thick velvet curtains. It wasn't his place! He didn't have the right to decide who lives and who dies, to take one life and give it to another. Not even for Ruthie. Not even for the only one who had cared for him, the one person who hadn't tried to use him or to get something from him. She helped him, took him in when the visions were too much, when he was ranting and delirious from lack of sleep. Sharp guilt stabbed at Ben. She did all that, and he repaid her by letting her die.  
  
"You're wrong." He declared firmly at the curtains, feeling at once defeated and strong. Ruthie was dead. He had nothing left to lose. "I ain't like you. I ain't one a' your kind, and I can't do it." Ben trembled were he stood. "God takes what's his!" his voice shook, weak and pale in the stuffy air. "Man don't take it back." He swayed with fatigue, muscles aching and strained, his bones weary with defeat.  
  
"That is where you are wrong." A silky voice emanated from behind the velvet hangings. "You see, God had nothing to do with Ruthie's fate."  
  
Ben stood frozen, barely breathing. Deep inside, the fury stirred. What was Management saying?  
  
The hidden voice seemed to take pleasure in explaining it to Ben. "It was Professor Lodz who murdered your friend."  
  
Lodz. Ben stopped breathing as everything came together. It all made sense. Lodz had always been there, manipulating, teasing, stringing him along with false promises. Always trying to get Ben to trust him, Lodz tried to make it look innocent and easy, but Ben always saw the hook. Something inside wouldn't let him trust the man, made every word that Lodz said seem to ooze deceit. Now, when Ben was weak, alone, with no friend to depend on, no Ruthie, in desperation, who else would he turn to? Lodz.  
  
Ben's stomach clenched, and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He was dimly aware that behind him, Lodz had stood up, neglecting his cane. It clattered to the floor, shattering the dense silence.  
  
"Why are you saying this?" Lodz's voice was rife with confusion and a quivering of fear. "What are you doing?" Ben slowly turned to face him. Lodz suddenly looked weak, trembling slightly as the edge of fear cut deeper. Ben's face was flushed, but he said nothing. His eyes burned from a frozen mask, the only indication of his fury. Lodz made an attempt at astonished disbelief. "The man's joking, Ben, you don't believe him," he scoffed weakly.  
  
"Look him in the eyes." The voice purred lazily from behind Ben. Ben lashed out at Lodz's face, quick as the viper that had stolen Ruthie's life. Lodz barely had time to flinch at the blow, and his opaque glasses fell to the floor. Lodz stared at Ben through clear dark eyes. He was no longer blind. Ben stared in shock. He could see everything now, all the emotions that Lodz had hidden behind the white sheen of blindness. He saw the truth.  
  
Lodz panicked as he felt death loom close. "Ben, he's lying!" the older man rasped. "Trust me!" He let out a strangled cry as Ben wrapped his hands around his throat. Lodz instinctively fought back, trying to push Ben away, tearing at the boy's face with his fingernails. Ben's grip tightened mercilessly. Lodz choked and gasped in vain, as his own hands finally locked around Ben's throat. Both men were locked in a deadly embrace, a macabre parody of affection. It was obvious from the beginning which man would be the victor.  
  
Ben's field of vision narrowed and darkened to exclude all else but Lodz. He focused all of his strength into his hands, into crushing the life out of the other man, who gurgled and writhed. After an eternity of moments, Lodz lost the strength in his legs. His knees buckled, and only Ben's grip kept him from hitting the floor. Ben held the both of them up, Lodz now dead weight, before letting them both crumple to the floor, never releasing his grasp. Lodz's movements slowed, no longer thrashing about in panic. His arms fell to his sides, lying limp and useless. Lodz stared into Ben's face, his mouth gaping wide, desperate for one breath of air.  
  
"Take a good look," Ben whispered over and over, numb and shaking. He repeated his mantra as his hands crushed and constricted. It'll be the last thing you'll ever see.  
  
Lodz's feeble movements finally stopped. His tongue lolled out obscenely, and his eyes were fixed unseeing onto the ceiling above. Ben waited for a few more seconds before releasing him. He lifted his hands away, revealing a ring of ugly bruises that stood out against the pale flesh of the throat. He watched as Lodz's clear dead eyes once more clouded over with the milky film of blindness.  
  
Ben realized he was panting, leaning against the cabin wall for support, a sheen of sweat covering his face. He stared unseeing at the corpse of Ruthie's murderer.  
  
"It appears we are of ilk nature after all." The voice chuckled from behind the curtain, amused by the spectacle of murder.  
  
Ben looked at those cursed curtains and the being behind it, and then back to the corpse beside him. He felt nothing.  
  
Finis  
  
-- Feed the review monster! Feedback please! I'll give you a cookie (as long as it's not a flame). -- 


End file.
